Song

Song

T. S. Eliot, 18881965

If space and time, as sages say,
Are things which cannot be,
The fly that lives a single day
Has lived as long as we.
But let us live while yet we may,
While love and life are free,
For time is time, and runs away,
Though sages disagree.

The flowers I sent thee when the dew
Was trembling on the vine,
Were withered ere the wild bee flew
To suck the eglantine.
But let us haste to pluck anew
Nor mourn to see them pine,
And though the flowers of love be few
Yet let them be divine.

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Keeping Wildness

Thoreau’s Country Holds a Distant Mirror to Today’s Hidden Forest

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“It is in vain to dream of a wildness distant from ourselves.” —Walden

Photo credits:  cmh2315fl at flickr, realtor.com, The Rivers & Trails Journal

Walden by Henry David Thoreau, influential ear...

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